It was difficult for Wiglaf to watch Beowulf die. But his killer was dead
as well. Blades had ended its life and made sure that it wouldn’t haunt the
land at night any longer. There are few men, even among the bravest, who
would dare face a dragon’s fire and poison breath. Beowulf paid for the
dragon’s treasure with his life, but he killed every enemy he ever fought.

Befell erelong

that the laggards in war the wood had left,

trothbreakers, cowards, ten together,

fearing before to flourish a spear

in the sore distress of their sovran lord.

Now in their shame their shields they carried,

armor of fight, where the old man lay;

and they gazed on Wiglaf. Wearied he sat

at his sovran’s shoulder, shieldsman good,

to wake him with water. Nowise it availed.

Though well he wished it, in world no more

could he barrier life for that leader-of-battles

nor baffle the will of all-wielding God.

Doom of the Lord was law o’er the deeds

of every man, as it is to-day.

Grim was the answer, easy to get,

from the youth for those that had yielded to
fear!

Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan,—

mournful he looked on those men unloved:—

“Who sooth will speak, can say indeed

that the ruler who gave you golden rings

and the harness of war in which ye stand

—for he at ale-bench often-times

bestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate,

lord to liegemen, the likeliest gear

which near of far he could find to give,—

threw away and wasted these weeds of battle,

on men who failed when the foemen came!

Not at all could the king of his
comrades-in-arms

venture to vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,

God, gave him grace that he got revenge

sole with his sword in stress and need.

To rescue his life, ’twas little that I

could serve him in struggle; yet shift I made

(hopeless it seemed) to help my kinsman.

Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I
struck

that fatal foe, and the fire less strongly

flowed from its head.—Too few the heroes

in throe of contest that thronged to our king!

Now gift of treasure and girding of sword,

joy of the house and home-delight

shall fail your folk; his freehold-land

every clansman within your kin

shall lose and leave, when lords highborn

hear afar of that flight of yours,

a fameless deed. Yea, death is better

for liegemen all than a life of shame!”

The other men approached. They had been too afraid to come to Beowulf’s
aid, and now they were ashamed. They saw Wiglaf sitting beside their dead
king, trying to revive Beowulf. It was too late. He could not bring that
great warrior back from where God had taken him. The Lord’s will rules over
every man. The cowardly men looked at Wiglaf’s grim face. He looked up at
them and said, “Anyone can see that all of the gifts Beowulf gave you were a
waste. You threw away the honor he showed you when you refused to help him.
Our king would have no reason to brag about his men. But God favored him by
helping him to kill that dragon with his own sword. There wasn’t much I
could do to help him, but I did the little that I could. I weakened the
dragon by stabbing it with my sword. It’s a shame that I was the only one to
help. Now all of this treasure will be useless to you. Men will lose their
feelings of loyalty to you and your lands will become deserted. It’s better
for a warrior to die than to live a life of shame.”